


Warriors For The Working Day

by Rubynye



Series: Works in StoatSandwich's 4F Universe (aka, the Adventures of Steve Rogers, Military Prostitute) [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Prostitution, Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bruises, Canon-Typical Violence, Crying, Dubious Consent, Enthusiastic Consent, F/M, M/M, Multi, Nonmonogamous Relationship, Nonmonogamy, Oral Sex, Pre-Serum Steve Rogers, Prostitution, Rough Sex, World War II
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-23
Updated: 2015-03-13
Packaged: 2018-03-14 17:53:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3420083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rubynye/pseuds/Rubynye
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four short tales set in the _4F_ alternate universe.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Hearts In The Trim

**Author's Note:**

> Titles mostly from _Henry V_ , because I am not subtle.  
> Now with [gorgeous artwork](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3317501/chapters/7560338) by TheFilthiestPiglet (who is also the most talented piglet)!

_March 1944_

It's been pouring rain for five goddamn days, let alone this whole march. Bucky glances back at his guys, trudging single file between the trees, and silently counts them off. Juniper, Dernier, Monty and Morita, and bringing up the rear, Rogers in front of Gabe and Dum Dum. Both of the latter could walk faster, of course, but they're keeping pace with their little auxiliary, who's stoutly squelching through the mud as if his bangs weren't dripping, as if he didn't have an asthma attack just yesterday and sleep ten hours straight after. Gabe glances up, wipes rain from his eyes and flashes Bucky a grin, and Bucky grins back and turns to look where he's leading.

A half hour's further march brings them through higher ground and thinning drizzle, the air pleasantly musty with leaf mulch and freshly piney in the thickets, to a grassy ledge where the forest falls away to a commanding view. Bucky calls a brief halt while he dares dig out his map and check their bearing. Satisfied they're on the right track, he glances back and finds three guys squatting aimlessly, Dernier pissing, and Jones, Rogers, and Dugan all staring raptly off across the mist-swirled view of distant gray-green hillsides. He has to bark twice to get them going again, and Rogers steals one last glance as he hitches up his pack and steps into line.

Bucky shakes his head at his air-headed soldiers and feels water fly off his hair. He rolls his eyes to himself and keeps on marching.

* **** * 

By the time they reach the safe house Bucky's almost too tired to care if Madame Poirier's sold them out to the Germans. He lets Gabe and Dernier do the talking, and they tug Steve up with them, who opens his eyes wide and does his best to look adorable.

Bucky admits it only to himself, and maybe Dugan after everyone else's gone to sleep, but Steve's really damn good at looking adorable.

Madame Poirier seems to think so. She's no taller than Steve, but she chucks him under his chin and calls him "Peu bonbon," which makes Dernier laugh his damn head off while Steve blushes and smiles. She feeds them in her kitchen, a little flavorful chicken in copious red wine gravy and a lot of crackly-crusted wheat bread to sop it up with, then leads them to three bedrooms. Leaving the guys to sort themselves out, Bucky takes the middle one, Steve with him; they find it thoroughly boyish, a model boat on the bookcase and posters of French film beauties on the walls. Bucky can't help hoping its resident comes home safe.

Shaking off the heavy thought, Bucky bows over Madame's hand, and smiles as she dimples and giggles before shutting their door. He drops his pack and turns, unbuttoning his jacket, to find Steve toeing off his boots, tugging at his soaked clothes and visibly shivering. "C'mere," Bucky orders, shrugging off his jacket, and peels Steve's coat and jacket off his vibrating frame, unbuttons his shirt and strips that away too, leaving him in undershirt and pants. "Better?" he asks, rubbing his hands up and down Steve's ropy arms till the chill skin warms a bit.

"Yeah," Steve mutters, smiling over chattering teeth. "Thanks, Sarge." Bucky chucks him under his chin, because he can, and grins as Steve glares at him from under those bushy eyebrows and strips off his undershirt.

"Hurry up and get in." Bucky gets out of his own sodden clothes, but instead of listening Steve picks up both sets and arranges them over the chairs and cabinets. "Rogers," Bucky huffs, watching Steve's pale back and winglike shoulder blades as Steve shivers through his self-appointed task. "I can do that."

"Almost done." Steve peels off his shorts, stuck translucently to his pert little ass, and drapes them on a chair's edge. "There, getting in, getting in." He climbs under the bedding topped with a quilt almost as blue as his eyes, and curls into a little still-shivering ball.

"You should've left it," Bucky grumps, the air chilly over his shoulders and backside as he hurries across the room. "Don't you know how to take orders?"

"You wanna wear wet duds tomorrow?" Steve asks from under the blankets, nothing visible but damp blonde hair, one rounded ear and one doubtful eye.

" 'Cause they'll be bone dry in the morning, in this weather." The rain patters against the window in the spaces between their words. "C'mere," Bucky demands, scooping Steve into his arms before Steve can do more than unfold. "Bet you'd rather be snug in that pro station back in London, huh?"

"Hell no," Steve answers immediately and firmly, looking up at Bucky as he wiggles close, his face alight with earnestness. "Of course not!" Bucky watches in silent shocked delight as Steve shrugs an arm free to flail his hand around emphatically. "I love it out here! Did you see that view today, the mist over the mountains?"

 _Wait till you see the Alps_ Bucky thinks, falling into Steve's bright-sky eyes as Steve warms to his subject. "Soon as I get some paper I'm drawing that landscape, it's a thousand times more beautiful than any subject I got in art school." A little Brooklyn seeps into his impassioned voice, a familiar taste of home. "I never saw things like that for real until I came out here with your Howlies. And you guys're manageable!" Bucky hoists an eyebrow, and Steve obligingly explains. "There's just seven of you. Back in London I did almost that many an hour sometimes." Bucky buries his wince, not letting himself distract Steve, who keeps going with armwaving enthusiasm. "I can actually know you all, and not just Biblically." Bucky laughs helplessly and Steve's eyes crinkle. "I can see what I'm doing, how I can make things better. All my life…" Steve's gaze lengthens, past Bucky in this bed, past the present moment. "I just wanted to be useful, to serve." Bucky watches him talk, his lush lips and delicate cheekbones and those shining eyes, and pushes down on the surge of want. "Here with you guys I can see it. I mean…" As Steve blushes pink he squares his fine-boned shoulders under Bucky's hand, dropping his arm over Bucky's, his hand on Bucky's ribs. "I'm honored to go where the Army needs me," he says, proper and upright as a recruiting poster, and Bucky has to smother a guffaw in the pillow. "Goddammit, I'm serious. And I know it's kinda selfish, but I love it out here with the Howlies, Sarge. With you."

Bucky looks up from the pillow, into Steve's gorgeous face, and curls his hand behind Steve's slender neck. Steve blinks and leans forward obediently, obviously taking it as a cue for makeouts, but Bucky kisses his temple, pressing his lips to the smooth skin of Steve's hard lovely head. Steve gasps, quivering down to his toes with a much warmer shake than any shiver, and Bucky eases up to just look at him, to try to put all he can't say into a smile.

Steve smiles in return, little then widening, stretching across his face like the dawn coming up. His hand slides down Bucky's side, and Bucky leans into the caress till he realizes where it's going. "Hey, that's okay," he murmurs, reaching to catch Steve's wrist. "It'll keep till the morning."

Steve nods, tucking his head under Bucky's chin. "Okay, Sarge." His breath brushes warm over Bucky's throat, his lean body's lax and easy in Bucky's hold.

Bucky tips back enough to reach the lamp and switch it off, pulls the blankets up as he rolls forward, and wraps both arms around Steve's back, tucking Steve's cheek to his chest, their fronts together all the way down to their tangled legs. In the darkness, he whispers into Steve's damp hair, "I'm glad you're here too," and feels Steve smile over his heart.


	2. The Bitterness of Battle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Howling Commandos don't take prisoners.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This installment owes especially much to Stoatsandwich, not only for the fictional universe, but also the specific concept from which this story grew, and the title, which is from [Steve's War](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3316277/chapters/7308410).

( _May 1944_ )

Waiting for the Howlies is both nervewracking and boring, not least since Steve had to leave his books behind, but he makes do. Unless he's supposed to lie low, he fills his time with playing housewife: doing laundry, collecting kindling, maybe setting some cans of beans near a small fire. Sometimes he catches himself up to his elbows in soap water and wavers once again between checking to make sure his balls didn't fall off and reminding himself that he signed up to help. As he scrubs now he remembers how Dugan once called him their girl: Steve was already achy and cranky that morning, and didn't even think before socking DumDum in the jaw. For a moment, staring up at Dugan holding his chin and staring back at him, Steve though he was gonna get the worst beating of his life, but then DumDum grinned ear to ear and smacked Steve on the back hard enough to knock him a step, saying, "Never met a girl who hits like that!"

"What about Agent Carter?" Gabe asked. "Barnes's sweetheart!" Morita added, which is how Steve heard about the famous, gorgeous, knockout Agent Peggy Carter. He really hopes he meets her someday. As he hangs wet trousers and jackets up on a clothesline rigged between two tents, Steve wonders a moment if after the war he might meet some dame like her, tall and strong, who'd want to marry a little guy who's good with his mouth and can do laundry.

He grins at the topsy-turvy mental image, but when he picks it out in detail his tall spouse turns into Sergeant Barnes, smiling wide and full-lipped, fixing Steve with heavy-lidded eyes as he tips his head back, all insouciant sensuality. Steve tries to refocus but can only picture Barnes beside him, both of them in dress uniforms, Barnes all shaved and combed and polished, broad-shouldered, blue eyes bright.

Steve might be a little more than professionally fond of Sergeant Barnes.

The radio in his pocket crackles before he can get any more addlepated. About a month after he joined the Howlies they found this miniaturized radio and tuned it to work with their big one, and Barnes carved English labels over the original German. Steve pulls it out, his cheeks prickling with reminiscent guilt; he'd told them they didn't need to waste such advanced tech on him, but Gabe and Barnes insisted. "Come in," Gabe crackles through it now, tinny and fuzzy but instantly recognizable.

"Rogers here," Steve answers, tossing the last shirt over the line. 

"Back in 25. No losses. Juniper wounded." Gsbe sounds heavy and tired, though, and Steve understands with a kind of resigned horror. He stammers acknowledgment as he scrambles into Barnes' tent. He's got a lot to do in less than a half hour.

The Howling Commandos don't take prisoners. Officially, being a small team of irregulars working behind the lines, they can't. But one night Steve stayed up with Jones and Morita by the fire, and as Gabe and Jim finished off the plum brandy they talked quietly about the nightmarish night Barnes led their ragtag group of POWs out of a collapsing HYDRA factory, and the first few missions after, the time when Barnes shot three unarmed men and then stared silently at his hands like he didn't recognize them. Steve had shivered then against Gabe's side, scared and sad. Two weeks later Steve saw Barnes with that exact blank look on his face, staring at nothing, and his belly turned a flip inside him. 

It's war, Steve knows, and as he gathers an armful of towels and heats a pot of water he tells himself one more time he understands. Then he heads back into the tent and slicks himself up, feeling vaguely sick at his own touch, at the night he might have ahead. But he signed up for this, he signed up to serve. He does his pants back up, cleans his hands, and grabs Morita's base medkit. He sits down on a log by the fire, stares into the lengthening afternoon, and waits.

Soon enough the Howlies straggle in, grim-faced and tired, Juniper limping between Barnes and Morita. Steve hands out warm damp cloths, collects stripped-off jackets and bloodstained shirts, kneels beside Morita to help him clean and stitch up Juniper's gashed leg. He squeezes Juniper's shoulder as the kid, younger even than Steve, digs white-knuckled fingers into the ground. The Howlies shuffle around them silently, cleaning up, eating some of the beans and C-rations Steve set out, except for Barnes who's disappeared into his tent.

After taping on a dressing Morita nods, and Steve tucks himself under Juniper's shoulder, helping lever him to his feet and walk to his bedroll. He fetches a C-ration which proves to be especially gray and crappy, and Juniper grimaces and smiles at Steve, sweat-damp curls stuck to his forehead, brown eyes big like a sick child's. Steve smiles back hopefully and kisses him between those eyes. He'd sit with Juniper and get him to eat, but he needs to check on Barnes.

However, Dum Dum catches Steve outside the tent, big hand curling around Steve's arm, relatively gently. He looks tired, he feels tense, and Steve nods and goes with him, takes him by the hips and pushes him to sit on the log by the fire. When times are good, or at least boring, sometimes Steve tries out little tricks, patterns of licks, nuzzles and kisses, but now he just kneels, opens Dugan's pants, and swallows around him over and over. Dugan's breathing roughens, he palms Steve's head and drags thick fingers through his hair, but he makes hardly any noise until he grunts deep and comes in steady spurts, the tension leaching out of him under Steve's mouth and hands.

Feet scuff on the grass beside them, and Steve feels time ticking by, time Barnes's been left alone. But he's here for all of them. Dernier smiles a weary request down at him, creases sunk in his face and a scrape scabbed over on his cheek, and DumDum pats Steve on the shoulder as he stands and steps aside, letting Dernier sit in front of Steve. 

As Steve sets his palms on Dernier's knees, rough hands curl delicately around his face and Dernier leans in, kisses him lightly, and murmurs, "Vous pourriez goûter plus mauvais." Steve has to smile at that, then gets to giving another no-frills blow job. Sometime in the middle he feels a hand brush his back up into his hair, and glances up to see Monty watching him, firelight glinting yellow in his eyes. He likes to touch Steve during sex, said once Steve reminded him of a boy he knew at school. For a moment Steve wonders, Dernier's dick filling his mouth, if Monty wants a turn too, how Barnes is doing, but Monty just pets Steve's hair a few times, while Dernier cracks an eye open and smirks sideways, and then wanders off. Dernier shuts his eyes again, Steve does too as he renews his concentration, and it doesn't take much longer until Dernier pulses heavily over his tongue. As Steve swallows he tucks Dernier in and zips him up again, and smiles again at the feel of chapped lips gently brushing his forehead.

Then Steve gets up off his knees, which are starting to complain, and snags a mug and another C-ration. He takes a drink from the purified water bucket, refills the mug and heads for Barnes's tent, thinking about how to get the tent flap aside with some combination of knee and shoulder action. 

Instead, Gabe comes up, smiling gently with sad eyes, and meets Steve in front of Barnes's tent. For a moment he wraps his arms around Steve's head and shoulders, pushing his face into Steve's hair, and Steve has no hands free but he leans in, pressing himself into Gabe's warm solidity, taking as much comfort as he gives. When Gabe lets go it's to lift the tent flap, and Steve ducks in and smiles gratefully before he lets it fall behind him.

Barnes's tent is dark inside but Steve knows his way around. Barnes sits on his bedroll, staring at nothing; Steve's eyes start adjusting and he sees the glint of dog tags, realizes Barnes is naked, and toes off his own boots. He might not get to later. Moving slowly and smoothly, careful to make noise, Steve brings the meal over to Barnes, hoping formlessly that he can do something to help.

Barnes looks up at him, hair falling across his forehead, wide eyes and downslung mouth. He reaches for the water, drains the cup, and sets it aside. He takes the C-ration from Steve next, but puts it down untouched. He looks up at Steve a moment more, his breathing so fast and deep it's nearly panting, his whole body hard with muscle as if he were carved from stone.

Then he clutches Steve's biceps, pulls him across, and slams him to the bedroll hard enough to feel the floor.

Barnes has manhandled Steve this roughly a time or two before. Steve hasn't ever yelled. He gasps, unsure why he's never yelled, why though his heart thumps wildly he's not precisely afraid, even when Barnes leans over him, staring unblinkingly. With as much range of motion as he's still got Steve gets his pants unclipped and unzipped; Barnes glances down Steve's body and lets go just long enough to shuck the pants and shorts off him, dragging the suspenders along, tossing them away and gripping Steve's arm again. He knees Steve's thighs apart, staring down at Steve like he's never seen him before, and Steve forces himself to keep his breathing steady and even. 

Barnes lets go Steve's arms, and the handprints throb. He grips Steve's hips, and Steve tenses and breathes and makes himself relax. He nudges Steve, blunt and hot, his eyes fixed on Steve's face. Steve doesn't have to move, he can't really do anything, but he nods, just a little, and Barnes sees him, he nods back.

Then Barnes shoves in, hard and fast and deep and overwhelming all at once, and Steve's gasp is edged with a cry. He digs his fingers into the bedroll, struggling to keep holding Barnes' gaze, but Barnes drags back and nails him again and his eyes roll up. It's just -- another thrust, too deep, too fast, striking sparks inside him, and there are times he'd like it like this but right now it just hurts. Right now isn't for him. Barnes rumbles deep in his throat, his thighs tensed like steel under Steve's as he jerks him in tighter, hips smacking his ass, and rides Steve so hard it aches all the way to the back of his throat. Or maybe that's each cry torn out of him, shoved out of him, as he grips two handfuls of padded cloth and arches into Barnes's grip, only his shoulders still on the bedroll as he tosses his head and hangs on.

Barnes's rigid back bends infinitesimally with each thrust, until his hair brushes Steve's forehead, his hot breath brushing Steve's face as he gasps. Steve's whimpering, he can hear himself, alight inside, his hips throbbing under Barnes's fingers. But he can do this, he can hold on and give Barnes this, he can hang on as Barnes slumps over him, fucking him into the bedroll with a stuttering roll of his hips, finally starting to come. Crackling around Barnes buried in him, Steve clenches his teeth against a scream and his fingers nearly meet through the cloth he's clutching, as Barnes shudders silently and drags in a long sobbing breath.

Steve's gasps have an edge of wheezing to them. Barnes gees nearly limp, arched over Steve, his cheek pressed to Steve's, his face sunk in the bedroll as he sucks down air. Before Steve's begun to catch his breath, Barnes drags in a long inhale, sighs and smudges his lips along Steve's cheek. Steve's still whimpering raggedly, and Barnes's soft mouth feels like a benediction, like a job well done. He tries not to sob, turning his head, but when Barnes kisses him _he_ sobs, his cheek wet, and the broken noise shudders through Steve, his heart and his bones and where he's still stretched taut around Barnes inside him. 

Prying his fingers off Steve's creaking hips, Barnes tilts his weight onto one elbow, easing out of Steve, and cups Steve's cheek in his other hand, kissing him like a thirsty man drinking his fill, like a drowning man gulping air. Steve's hands fly off the bedroll and he clutches Barnes's shoulders and kisses back, tasting salt in it, feeling Barnes's chest shudder against his. Of all his aches his heart hurts most of all, for the man in his arms.

Eventually their frantic kiss eases and softens and breaks. Barnes pushes his wrist across his eyes and pets Steve's hair, unbuttons Steve's shirt and strokes it off his arms and tosses it after the rest of his clothes. Steve still aches stickily, but exhaustion is settling over him, and he lets Barnes pull the bedroll around them, curls into Barnes's arms around him and shuts his eyes.

Much later, someone shouts awake, Gabe from the sound of it. Barnes jerks awake too, waking Steve tucked under his chin. They listen to Dernier's soft French voice murmuring comfort, to the quiet descending again; Steve feels a little guilty that there's not more than one of him, as Barnes's hand smooths down his back, as Barnes's nose presses into his hair. He falls asleep on that thought and dreams of an army of himself, distributed to all the soldiers, and Barnes laughing at the sight.

* *** * 

There are birds singing, Steve thinks as he wakes up, actual fucking birds. He opens his eyes to find gray light leaking under the tent flap and the lantern lit; the tent smells of coffee and C-ration, a baritone hum joins the birdsong, and Steve glances over to find Barnes shaving in front of the portable mirror, slowly and methodically.

Steve rolls onto his side, throbs inside and out, and instantly regrets moving. It's been awhile since he felt this sore, he usually doesn't even after all seven Howlies, they tend to 'go easy on his narrow little ass', as Dugan put it. Barnes pauses in shaving, meeting Steve's eyes in the mirror, then carefully finishes up. Whether bare or bristly he has a very nice chin.

He turns, wiping his hands, and smiles at Steve as he picks up a plate and brings it over. On it are a mug covered with a saucer and Steve's daily liver pill. "Morning, kid," 

Steve gets his hands on the coffee first. "Morning, Sarge," he mumbles against the mug, takes a sip, and blinks -- it's sweet and rich, like someone threw their chocolate ration into it. He slants his eyes at Barnes, who widens his smile to dazzling. It takes Steve a moment to notice it's not reaching his wide eyes. 

Steve takes his pill and finishes his troublingly delicious coffee. Barnes crouches beside him, trousers pulled tight across his muscular thighs. "Hey," he asks, "you okay?"

Emboldened by the coffee, Steve rolls his eyes. "I could ask you that."

"Yeah, well, I'm the one asking." Barnes's eyes are starting to crinkle, though, and Steve smiles to see it. "Rogers, how are you?"

"Fine, Sarge, I'm fine." Steve pushes himself to sit up despite his sore ass. "I've done forty guys in a night, I can handle you happy few." Of course, he limped back to the dormitory afterwards and fell into bed on his face, and none of them had the iron strength Barnes seems to have gotten from whatever they did to him in that HYDRA facility, whatever none of the Howlies will talk about. Steve thinks of rolling onto his hip but it's still creaking. He sits squarely up, pushes down his wince, and smiles gamely at Barnes.

Whose brow creases as he glances down Steve's arm, before brushing a thumb across Steve's bicep. It stings, and Steve looks and finds a big purple handprint. "Sure you are," Barnes mutters, the smile falling off his face. "Rogers, um."

Steve's eyes are gonna get sore with all this rolling. "You apologizing? Like it won't happen again? Like this isn't why I'm here?"

"You're not here to be a punching bag," Barnes grumps. "You know what, maybe I am apologizing. This is just -- " He slumps back to sitting, a hundred emotions flicking across his face, each more painful than the last, and Steve wants more than anything to reach out. "I'm fucked up," Barnes murmurs low, almost a whisper.

"Yeah, you are." Steve reaches out, gripping Barnes's shoulder. "We are. We're at war." Barnes lifts big scared eyes to him. "The Army sent me here to fill a need, remember?" Right now he hardly looks any older than Steve. "And I'm still glad I'm here."

Barnes looks so sad and young and grateful Steve's heart could just break. "So am I," he says soft as a prayer, and leans in to kiss the bruise on Steve's arm. Steve's been learning how Barnes says much more with his mouth than just words; he closes his eyes to better feel Barnes's lips warm and yielding on his skin, up over his shoulder, along his neck and chin. _Stop kissing me all over like a girl_ , Steve could say against the pleasure, if he were that dumb with pride; instead he lets his lips part, ready to meet Barnes's when Barnes kisses his cheek, the corner of his mouth, square on it. Barnes tastes like clean teeth and savory warmth, and even feeling this sore Steve stirs hot under the kiss, except that he thinks of how he must taste, coffee and stale breath, and makes himself pull away.

He opens his eyes and finds Barnes looking mollified, maybe even in shouting distance of happy. "One day," he tells Steve, slowly and carefully as he shaved, "I'm gonna get us through this war, you and me and the Howlies, and one day I'm gonna make all this up to you."

"Ia that a fact?" Steve asks as briskly as he can while flushing warm all over.

"It's a promise," Barnes says, holding out his hand. Steve folds his hand into Barnes's and they shake on it. Instead of letting go, though, Steve leans in, Barnes leans to meet him, and they seal it with a kiss.


	3. Hands Hungry, World Beautiful

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You bet me a blow job, fair is fair."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from "It's This Way" by Nazim Hikmet.

( _June 1944_ , eight days after "Blooming Nearby" and about a month after "The Bitterness of Battle")

"Check _mate_ ," Rogers says, full-lipped smirk stretching wide across his face. Bucky growls like he's anything less than tickled pink -- kid beat him fair and square, he's got a sharp head on his skinny shoulders -- and pushes the footlocker with the chess set out of the way. Rogers' eyelids flutter as he keeps the smirk up, leaning back on his elbows on their bunk, knees falling open fake-carelessly. 

"Why you little…" Bucky rumbles as he lunges over Rogers, who looks up at him coolly, seemingly unimpressed except for his widening eyes. He's so _pretty_ , smile broad with triumph and eyes huge and blue over those fine cheekbones, long sharp nose and thick eyebrows in masculine counterbalance. Bucky crushes his mouth down onto Rogers's -- Steve's now, when they fuck Bucky can think of him as _Steve_ \-- and gets a gasp and long strong fingers digging into his biceps through his shirt.

Pushing his chin up demandingly, Steve licks into Bucky's mouth, grazes his teeth across Bucky's lip, kisses back with gorgeous strength. Bucky wishes he could get his mouth all over Steve at once, kisses down his chin and bites at his adam's apple. drags his teeth down the corded tendon of Steve's narrow throat as he unbuttons Steve's shirt. Steve's exhale breaks into a thousand sharp sweet bits as Bucky rakes teeth and smooths lips along his collarbones, he swallows a whimper, fingers scrunching in the sheets, as Bucky sucks a kiss on his chest. All Bucky wants in life right now is to hear Steve cry out, and as he pushes Steve's shirt open, spreading his hands across Steve's belly, he sucks hard over Steve's nipple, pressing his teeth in slowly, feeling Steve's trembling accelerate under his mouth. He eases off and Steve gasps, so he goes for the other with a sharp nip and Steve squeaks high; Bucky laughs, mouth pressed to Steve's board-flat tit, and Steve socks him in the shoulder, breathing noisily.

By way of apology or something Bucky pries Steve's pants open, tipping his head back to watch Steve from under his lashes, taking him in all flushed red and bright-eyed. Steve grins and bumps their noses, tilting his head into a kiss as Bucky eases his pants and shorts down his hips, sighing into it as Bucky strokes his dick with one hand, gripping his bony hip with the other.

When Bucky pulls back Steve chases the kiss, making him smirk. Steve huffs, rolling his eyes, and Bucky takes advantage of Steve's dramatics to fold over and get his lips around the head of Steve's dick.

 _That_ gets him the cry he wanted, as Steve twitches all over like a startled cat. "Sarg- ah- Bucky - what!" 

"C'mon, Steve," Bucky murmurs into the velvety curve, Steve's balls tensing against his fingers. "You bet me a blow job, fair is fair." Steve acts so surprised every time Bucky sucks him, though, to be honest, this is only the fourth time. Not that anyone's counting. 

"Buh -- buh --" As Steve's tries at words tumble into nonsense, Bucky goes down as far as he can, maybe a little fast, swallowing hard against gagging as he hollows his cheeks and sucks for real. He used to do this fancier, back in his teenage bathhouse days, but he's a few years out of practice, more inspired by Steve's sweet clever mouth than remembering his own tricks. He's hidden his inversion well since he joined the Army, afraid of ending up in a stockade or where Steve is now. He's not nearly as brave as Steve is, to hold his head high and calmly name himself an auxiliary, daring any and everyone to make something of it, as proud of his service as any pilot or commando. 

Instead, Bucky leads a team in blowing up buildings and killing lots of people. But the thought's just words against the reality of Steve's shuddering thighs around his head, Steve's dick taut in his mouth, and Bucky forces back the specter of death with every aspect of Steve's present liveliness, as Steve's fingers push into his hair and Steve's voice sobs and cracks with pleasure. He sucks evenly, sliding his tongue in broad caresses, and Steve's breathing speeds and deepens, Steve's belly tightens against his forehead. Applying his tongue tip with precision makes Steve howl, and for once Bucky doesn't feel monstrously strong or brimming with violence. He pushes carefully behind Steve's balls and Steve moans, rocks his knuckles back and forth until Steve shouts, hips hitching up, cockhead nudging Bucky's throat. Humming happily in answer, Bucky swallows around Steve as Steve's hips roll into frank thrusts, listens to Steve forget himself and shout, "Oh, fuck, God, _please_ -!" Just a little nudge, just a slightly tighter swallow, and Steve wails "Bucky!" and comes down his throat, and Bucky triumphantly drinks him down, letting the rush of Steve's delight wash through him too.

"Oh, ah, oh," Steve puffs as Bucky pulls off his softening dick and kisses his belly button. "Oh, Jeez, sorry I was so loud --"

"Sounded great," Bucky murmurs into Steve's breastbone, kissing his way up until Steve grabs his hair and impatiently mashes their mouths together. Bucky laughs into it, curves his palm to Steve's thigh and rocks Steve onto his back, pressing down to feel him chest to chest. Damp and warm in Bucky's arms, Steve eases his grip enough for Bucky to kiss his cheek while he nips Bucky's throat; Bucky lets the bright sharpness zing through him, presses his nose under Steve's ear and drags in a lungful of him, a little sweet as well as fella-savory. Like a flower but a guy flower, and Bucky sucks kisses along Steve's jaw to keep from saying so, not least while Steve pushes his pants open and wraps strong hands around his vulnerable parts. He still remembers the time DumDum called Steve their girl and Steve's whole face pulled into a snarl as he socked Dugan in the jaw.

But then they all remember; that's when Dugan fell head over heels for the kid.

Bucky doesn't know when he fell, he thinks as Steve's fingers curl hot around his dick and he hisses through his teeth, as Steve shoves his trousers down and he wiggles helpfully to kick them off. Maybe the first time he saw his new auxiliary, all ruffled blond hair and sleepy big blues and firm businesslike handshake. Maybe it was the first time his mouth went dry and his pants tight as he watched Steve take on Monty and Dernier at the same time, pale and graceful as he gripped Monty's hips and rocked back into Dernier's thrusts and they both groaned in delight. Maybe it was when he first looked down into Steve's open, lash-fringed blue eyes as Steve looked up at him, pink mouth stretched tight around his cock. Whenever it was, Bucky thinks as he shifts to look down into those blue eyes, dark as summer twilight, as Steve stares back up at him, panting a little, wrist steadily rolling, he knows it was long before he ran up to that Hydra bunker to find Steve limping out the front door, head high and rocket launcher slung across his shoulder. 

"What're you lookin' at?" Steve murmurs, staring back just as intently.

"Your corny mug," Bucky whispers and kisses Steve again, drinking down Steve's laughter. 

Steve strokes faster until that sliding touch sparks all over Bucky's skin, brushing Bucky's lips with his as he asks, "C'mon, Barnes, gonna fuck me?"

Oh God, it's been a week. "Holy -- hold your horses!" A week of sleeping with his arms wrapped around Steve and carefully not asking for anything, of giving Steve time to heal. Bucky drops his head, shuddering with sheer lust, barely managing to grit out, "In a rush, Rogers? Got somewhere to go?"

Steve presses his smile to Bucky's cheek. "Nowhere I'd rather be," he whispers, shaking Bucky to the core. Scooping Steve up under both thighs, Bucky lifts him up the bed, climbing on over him, desperate now to be inside him, to never let him go. But Steve squirms, and Bucky jerks back like he's been burned: it takes him a moment to see the jar in Steve's hand, to see Steve's eyes twinkle at him. "Here, take this while I just shift over --"

"Hey don't, please?" Steve rolls back onto his elbows, the question on his face, and Bucky feels as tongue-tied as he ever was as a kid floundering into the bathhouses. "I just -- I wanna watch your face."

"Corniness and all," Steve teases, shrugging out of his shirt. Bucky pulls it away as they meet in another kiss, then grabs the vaseline. The jar seems to creak under his fingers, and he wants so much, so Goddamn much. He should slick Steve up, who sinks back to the mattress, looking up with those big earnest eyes, but he doesn't trust his own hands to be gentle enough. So Bucky scoops out half of what's in the jar and slathers up his own dick, leaning on his other hand planted on the mattress by Steve's waist. 

Steve snorts at the amount and Bucky rolls his eyes, using his thumb to gather the rest off his fingers so he can coat the head of his dick with an extra-thick glistening layer. "Maybe I should add a little more," Bucky says, to tease them both.

"Maybe I'll slide across the room." Steve curls a hand behind Bucky's nape, sliding a finger under the chain of his dog tags. "Come on."

"All right, all right." Bucky leans closer as Steve hooks knees over his elbows. "How do you want it?"

"Any way you want it," Steve breathes, "it's what I'm here for, right?"

That stops Bucky cold, hot and hard as he is. Thinking 'gentle' to himself he slides his clean hand into Steve's hair and tugs lightly, and Steve looks up at him, a crease falling in between his huge eyes. "No," Bucky says when he wants to shout. "I asked what you want. You like this, right? You wanna do something else?"

Steve glances pointedly down at Bucky's still-rampant, thickly greased dick, and further to his, up again and looking honestly interested. "Like what, play bridge?" He rolls his eyes up to Bucky's, smirking again. "Of course I like it."

Bucky gives Steve's head the lightest shake possible, lets go and kisses the crease between his eyes. "I want you to enjoy yourself."

"I'd rather enjoy you," Steve says, squeezing Bucky's ribs with his thighs. 

Desire pounding in his temples and his dick, Bucky has to hang his head and groan, then chuckle as a plan forms in his hazy brain. "Then I'm not gonna come till you do, Steve. I wanna feel that you like it." It won't be the first time he's held off for the pleasure of feeling Steve come around him, for him, but it's one thing to just do it and another to go and announce it.

Steve tilts his head back, showing off his bobbing adam's apple. "You know what, Buck? You want me to like it? Let go. Fuck me as hard as you can."

Bucky swallows hard against the surge in his blood, trying to remember why he needs to control himself. "But I don't wanna treat you rough," he stammers, reminding himself of how sick he felt to see he'd bruised Steve up, of how pointlessly angry he's been this week watching someone else's violence fade slowly from Steve's skin. "Not like--" he chokes out, unable to spit out the 'before'.

Steve's eyes flash gas-fire blue. "You think I could ever mix you up with those squids?" he demands, misunderstanding and understanding too well at the same time. "Any of our guys but especially you? Come on, Bucky Barnes, come the fuck on." Steve tugs Bucky's head down and Bucky goes where Steve pulls him, resting their foreheads together. "You're nothing like them, down to how you smell. You -- " Steve stammers, and shoves his chin up, shutting himself up with Bucky's mouth. He hikes his hips up into Bucky's lap, dropping a hand to spread himself open, fingers playing over Bucky's cock, and Bucky wants, wants, wants… his hand wraps itself around Steve's wrist, porcelain bird-bones in his grip, and he feels like a beast looming over a delicate creature, but he knows Steve's not so fragile, not at all. "Come on," Steve murmurs, and sharply bites Bucky's lip. "Come on you big jerk, c'mon, you asshole dreamboat, fuck me!"

Bucky groans and grabs Steve's hips and gives in, reining himself in just enough to pull a slam out into a slide, and Steve moans between clenched teeth and arches into it, unfortunately robbing Bucky of his mouth. "Come _on_ ," Steve demands, gasping, clutching Bucky's shoulders. "Fuck me--!" Bucky does just that, nailing him balls deep, Steve thrashes and screams and Bucky has to kiss him like he has to breathe. 

"Steve," he whimpers, running his hands up Steve's heaving ribs, and Steve takes mercy and pulls him down into a diving kiss, crying out each time Bucky slams into him, his whole body shaking with it. "Sweetheart, baby, Stevie," Bucky gasps between kisses and Steve lets him, bites his lip and grins into his cheek and swears ecstatically, his dick smearing wet against Bucky's belly. Bucky should stroke him, should dial it back, but he can only beg Steve, "Come on my dick, come on me, let me feel you," every time he gets their tongues untangled a moment, before he dives in again, thrusts again and again. 

And Steve answers his begging, rippling around him, impossibly tender and tight. Steve throws his head back and cries out, "Jesus Mary Joseph _oh--_ " and shoots all the way up Bucky's chest, a splash catching him in the chin as he falls forward, pressing his mouth to the thumping pulse in Steve's throat. "Oh fuck, oh Bucky, oh oh oh," Steve shouts in time with his shudders, his whole body jerking with each ripple, each spurt, every bracingly gorgeous pulse. All restraint gone, Bucky slams into him and groans into him and buries himself in Steve as he comes wrenchingly, tension uncoiling all through him, flowing out in juddering spurts as he empties himself into Steve.

"Bucky, Bucky, oh my God," Steve moans in his ear, clinging to him, and Bucky falls forward into Steve's hold, slumps bonelessly onto him, their cheeks pressed together as they gasp and hang onto each other. Steve's as melted as he is except for one spot, his left shoulder, and with what feels like the last of his strength Bucky pushes his fingers up along Steve's shoulder until it unlocks and Steve groans and goes completely, happily limp under him.

A thud against the wall, another, two following thumps. Someone whoops in the next room and Bucky feels Steve's cheek heat further against his. "Hey lovebirds!" DumDum shouts through the wall. "If you're finally done busting your nuts, some of us need to sleep!"

Steve's snicker tickles Bucky's shoulder. "Fuck off, Dugan!" Bucky shouts back, before burying his burning face in Steve's sweaty hair. He didn't think he even remembered how to blush anymore. Steve skims a hand down his side to reach the sheet and hauls it up over them, and they hide under its flimsy cover as they listen to the raucous laughter across the wall. 

"Guess they got back already," Steve murmurs into the warm close space around them, and Bucky nods, dragging his lips along Steve's damp forehead as Steve huffs a little laugh and turns to him. Their lips meet in a lazy kiss, sliding and stroking on and on as Bucky softens and eases out, as he makes to ease off and Steve wraps ropy arms around his shoulders and keeps him right where he is. The noise across the wall dies away, or maybe they just forget about it as they lazily enjoy each other.

Right up until Steve wheezes and Bucky's eyes fly open as he jerks back, propping his elbows beneath him. "Hey, I should --"

"Come on," Steve's eyelids lift languidly. "I like it." The lantern light filters hazy through the sheet, soft on Steve's flushed smiling face. "I like how you feel." His heels still up, he digs them semi-gently into Bucky's spine. 

"I've seen you prod Dugan in the ribs," Bucky counters, trying not to feel triumphant.

Steve blushes red and ducks his face against Bucky's shoulder, and triumph wins. "Not everyone," he mutters into Bucky's skin. "I like you."

Bucky has to curve his hand behind Steve's neck again, and Steve turns his head enough to brush his mouth across Bucky's thumb, smiling a little as he tilts his chin up for another round of deep slow kisses. Bucky's lips slide off Steve's mouth eventually, but only so he can kiss Steve's nose and the arch of his eyebrow, his ear and cheek and pretty much everywhere Bucky can reach, over and over, as he soaks up the feel of Steve tucked to him, wrapped around him, of sheer undiluted contentment.

Rolling them sideways a little, Bucky spots a faded yellow bruise in the hollow of Steve's collarbone. He kisses that too, and Steve sighs, "Why'd'ya keep doing that?"

"What?" Bucky mumbles, paying more attention to the soft thin skin under his lips. 

"Kissing me all over," cuts right through his groggy satedness. 

Gut clenching, he starts to pull away. "Sorry, sorry, I'll stop --"

But Steve hangs onto him with those strong thin arms. "Didn't say stop," Steve mutters into Bucky's bicep, then deliberately kisses him there, and purposely looks up so Bucky can see the red glow across him from chest to hairline, can see his shining smile.

Bucky smiles back helplessly, and kisses Steve one more time, as deep and warm as he can go, before curling on his side around Steve curled in his arms. As Steve presses a hand over Bucky's heart, threading fingers through his chest hair, Bucky presses his lips to Steve's forehead and thinks maybe he can dare a little hope, for what feels like the first time since they sent him back to war, Maybe, possibly, Steve's just a bit gone for him too.


	4. A Piece of Feather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Mmm, tits are amazing," Steve announces to the room at large.

( _September, 1944_ )

Bucky's stretched on his bunk glaring into the darkness, at all of liberated Paris cheerful around his bad mood. He's still got trousers and vest on, his dogtags cool in the hollow of his throat, when light spills through the room as Steve reels in between Jones and Dernier, all three chattering in variously disheveled French. Tipping his head back, Steve slurs, "Merci de ce soir," kisses Dernier enthusiastically on the cheek, whose eyes crinkle, then Gabe lushly on the mouth, who leans into it. As Steve pulls away he laughs, they all laugh, loud and happy as Steve swings the door shut. "Mmm, tits are amazing," Steve announces to the room at large as he spins across the floor, tossing his jacket and tie aside.

"Mmhph," Bucky mumbles like he was anywhere near asleep. Steve laughs breezily, shucking off his clothes as he sways over to their bunk, and flops down full length atop Bucky, who can't help a little thrill at Steve treating him so casually despite all the sullenness he can muster. "Oof, you're heavy, what'd you do, drink your weight in booze?"

"And then some," Steve agrees cheerfully, flushed and damp, smelling of perfume and pussy. His left cheek's streaked with red; Bucky gives up and brushes his knuckles across the mark and they come away sticky and dark with lipstick. "I'm absolutely drunk. On Jeanette."

"A huh," Bucky mutters, shutting his eyes. He likes dames well enough, likes pretty people whatever's in their pants, but he pictures some gorgeous thing leaving her prints on Steve and he just wants to scrub it off, lick it off, bite Steve all over till the only marks on him are from Bucky's mouth. His own savage thoughts make Bucky shudder and blink and find Steve's clear eyes focused on his, crinkled with happiness and big as two moons. "That her name?" Bucky mumbles, trying to behave.

"Yeah, like the carol, and she's pretty as a song, made me miss my sketchbook like crazy." Steve rolls over on his back, head on Bucky's shoulder, bony and exultant as he sketches curves in the dim air. "Charcoal curls and lapis eyes and this pouty mouth and she knew how to use it too, she kept saying, 'Steev-ee, don't you want to kiss me? Don't you want to be inzide me? Steevee?'" Steve laughs again, soft with memory, and Bucky desperately wishes he could slap himself in the face, that he could get drunk.

"What, _Steeveee_ ," he asks instead, feeling Steve's laughter all down his side, "Such a hot piece of ass and you didn't even fuck her?"

"Actually, no," Steve answers thoughtfully. "Got off twice, too, with my face in those gorgeous tits and when I was going down on her, oh, she was delicious."

"Taste better than all that manmeat you've been getting, huh?" Bucky forces himself to tease as a lump congeals in his belly. He assumed Steve didn't mind, even kinda liked it a little, but for all he knows Steve was a straight arrow before the war.

"Don't sound so down, you know I like sausage." Steve wiggles like a minx, smirking over his shoulder, and relief washes over Bucky; desire surges in next as he stares at Steve's plumped out bottom lip and wants so badly he can taste it, hot and humid in his mouth. "But it's nice to have a change, to have a pretty girl. And man, her tits. Tomorrow morning I'm absolutely drawing them to remember her by."

"Guess you had a good night out on the town." Bucky sounds inane to his own ears, but Steve smiles, wiggling around to press chest to chest, belly to belly. "Sowing your wild oats in Paree."

"I never used that rubber, you know. You shoulda come," Steve says earnestly, eyes bright. "The girls woulda swarmed you, our fearless leader. They kept asking about you." 

Bucky likes girls, he's liked them, but at the moment, what lifts his dick fastest is the skinny little fella plastered to his side. He tries to say so and it comes out, "Don't need a girl when I've got you," which is the wrong way around with Steve Rogers

Steve's eyes open wide under crashing-down brows. "I may be a punk but I'm still all guy," he snaps, looking prettier than ever when he's mad. "I think you've sucked my dick enough times to know it."

Bucky should shut his trap or say something nice, but he snarls back, "Yeah, well it sounds like Jeannette sucked it better, anyway."

Steve opens his pretty, full-lipped, angry mouth. Then he pauses, and blinks, and sits up, looking down his slightly crooked nose at Bucky lying beside him, his big eyes dark in the unlit room. Bucky stares up at Steve and has never felt less in charge than he does right now, being stared down by this ninety-five pound bag of lovely bones.

"I know what you need," Steve says confidently, curling his fingers over Bucky's thigh. "I've still got a little more in me, if you want." His fingers slide, narrow and hot, down to the inside of Bucky's thigh, up towards his dick starting to tighten his pants. "Bucky. C'mon. Lemme make you feel good."

Bucky catches himself nodding, shoves up on his elbow and dumps himself on his belly, and Steve grins, cheerful with liquor and entertained by everything, shining in the darkness. "Mmm, I dunno, I'm tired," Bucky mumbles into his pillow.

Steve laughs a little, bending to smudge his lips along Bucky's jaw. "I can do all the work," Steve says into his skin, trailing teeth along his jaw. "It's my job. I love my job." Steve's breath is hot in the little scratches, his mouth wet and supple as he sucks at Bucky's nape and Bucky stretches out and gives up a moan. 

"If you insist," Bucky mumbles, though his heart is rising faster than his dick. Steve snickers, seeing right through him, lifts his hot mouth away long enough to slide clever hands under Bucky, unfasten his trousers and drag them off. Then Steve leans on him again, bony and warm and gorgeous, kissing his neck down to his vest, kneading his ass in both long hands. 

Steve reaches under the pillow where they stashed the tube of vaseline, and the slick sounds of Steve greasing his fingers make Bucky's belly quiver in anticipation. He doesn't let himself ask Steve what he's gonna do with him. Honestly, if Steve wanted to fuck him he'd love it, he hasn't been fucked since before he joined the Army. It feels a little unfair sometimes that Steve never seems to get to top. 

Steve doesn't fuck Bucky. He nudges him up on his knees, pushes up his vest to suck kisses along his spine, strokes his dick with one greased hand and works two fingers of the other inside him, then three. His movements aren't precise, from his mouth smearing and nipping down Bucky's back to his hands rocketing back and forth. They're better than that, they're tight and flowing at the same time, and Bucky sighs into moaning as Steve presses inside and around him, as the wet marks of Steve's teeth burn chill until they fade too fast. "Yeah," Steve mumbles into Bucky's back between sharpening bites, "yeah, Buck, c'mon," and Bucky rubs his cheek on the pillow, rocking his hips back, moaning like he's five years younger and half the world away, and comes for Steve as lavishly as he ever has in his life, in long throbs pressed out further by Steve's fingers inside him.

"There you go," Steve says, sounding proud of himself, smiling into Bucky's shoulder as he strokes the last few drops out; he pulls his fingers back just far enough to caress Bucky's hole through the aftershocks until Bucky slumps down to the bed, breathing heavily, awash in warmth. He really did need that, he thinks as he listens to Steve scrub off his hand with swishing bedsheets. He really needs Steve, he thinks as Steve plasters himself across his back. "Come out with us tomorrow," Steve mumbles into Bucky's hair, sounding as sated and sleepy as Bucky feels. "Take me out on the town."

"Mmph, okay," Bucky mutters, hiding his smile in the pillow. He knows Steve can see it anyway. "Okay, Steve, okay."

(They go out the next night. Girls flock to Bucky, kissing his cheeks and petting his chest and cooing over him; he dances with five girls and sees Steve dance with two. He watches all his Howlies chatting pretty Frenchies up, Dernier with his arms wrapped around three giggling girls at once, Steve earnestly talking up a little big-eyed brunette who matches him nicely. He loses count of how many laughing mouths he kisses and how many glasses of wine he drinks, and ends up tucked into a booth making out with a pillowy buxom blonde while Steve leans on him back to back and kisses the big-eyed girl. And as the stars are just starting to pale into rising blue in the East, Bucky sings back to barracks with his arm slung around Steve's shoulders, slumps into bed and pulls Steve down atop him; he goes down, licking and sucking all Steve's most private delicate skin while Steve sucks him to the root, while they whimper into each other until Steve's coming feels like his own and when Bucky comes he sees all the stars behind his eyelids. They collapse in a knot and it doesn't matter where one ends and the other begins, Bucky falls asleep with Steve in his arms and his last groggy thought is that he enjoyed Paris after all.)


	5. Five Splendid Illustrations by TheFilthiestPiglet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> TheFilthiestPiglet did five illustrations for my little stories here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can leave comments and kudos, and also see what quotations she paired with the drawings, at her original post here:
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/3317501
> 
> I considered interleaving them with my text but decided to give them a chapter of their own, a little gallery.


End file.
